Recently, Justin Sirois and I and a couple other bros from way back lit up the Baltimore streets with a big plastic owl that Justin had kept buckled into his backseat for years. The owl was called BSO, as in, “Back Seat Owl.” We took the BSO to play pool at Club Phoenix. We took him dancing and everyone hooted when he did a backspin. We even bought him beers at H.L. Mencken’s old hangout, the Owl Bar. Then we took him to play football in the street where, sadly, the BSO perished.

Which is meant to confess two things: one, Justin is my friend. Two, my man knows party fowl. (more…)